


The Tie that Binds

by understars_dreaming2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty-ish, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/understars_dreaming2/pseuds/understars_dreaming2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean have been through a lot together. At one time they might have had something, but life and the apocalypse and Purgatory and Heaven got in the way.  That time is long past now.<br/>But Cas has a problem that only Dean can help him with, and he's afraid it will damage Dean. Dean is not as easily damaged as Cas thinks he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where the Fuck is Cas?

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this once, wasn't happy with it so been re-working it. Hope it's coming out a little better this time. There will be more chapters. I didn't plan on it going so long, but the story kind of took over my keyboard, and my head. Please comment if you have anything good or bad to say, it's my first time, can't learn if nobody tells me.
> 
> Canon compliant through most of season 10, non canon after that. No Darkness, not of the Amara variety anyway.

“Dean, you gotta stay awake, and pay attention.......”  
He'd been looking up through the windshield of the car at a misty ½ moon above them.....  
“No day dreaming, right? You need to be a man right now, I've gotta sleep for awhile.......”  
Johns voice dragged rough with exhaustion....and the eight year old wanted to do this right.......  
wanted it more than anything in the world at that moment.......  
Looked into his fathers face and nodded seriously.........John handed him the silver gripped pistol, Dean took it carefully, checked the load, checked the safety and set it in his lap. His dad nodded tiredly and got out of the Impala to climb into the back seat with Sammy, who was already asleep . Dean felt a flood of relief, he'd messed up at target practice today, been watching the jet contrails in the sky overhead, daydreaming about being a fighter pilot, he'd missed 3 shots out of six and John had been angry. Now he had a chance to get it right, to please his dad, who was so often sad, or angry, or busy with things other than his sons.  
It was a lot of responsibility, watching at night. Daydreams about flying a jet teased at his mind as he sat staring into the darkness, and he felt a stab of guilt and fear. He did his best to take those thoughts and shove them down into a mental lock box, imagined stepping his foot onto them, smashing them down out of sight. Finally they were gone, and  
Dean felt a wash of relief, stupid daydreams and wishes, had to be a man, had to be a man for his dad, and for Sammy, he glanced up at the moon again, and then down to scan the darkness.................

>>>>>>>>>>>>

Dean shifted in the Impala's front seat, vaguely aware of the memory running through the back of his mind. Just a memory of dad, the ½ moon in the sky this night bringing back a night 30 years ago.  
It had been summer then, now it was a bitterly cold winter.  
He was pissed about this stake out because it wasn't a full moon yet, this job was looking like a bust and he was freezing his balls off for nothing. Despite long johns, wool socks, jeans, flannel, heavy army jacket and lined driving gloves he was still cold.

Internally bitching at Sam, he poured more coffee out of the thermos, tipped in a splash of whiskey and buried his nose in the steam rising off the cup.  
He was bored and cold, and Sammy, of course was at the local library, warm and cozy looking at newspapers.  
Cas, where the hell was Cas anyway? He'd been up Deans ass for what seemed like months, his Grace so low, he couldn't pop in and out like usual, and he'd been pretty much living at the bunker. Now, when Dean could really use some company he was nowhere to be found. 

He took a sip of coffee and burned the crap out of his tongue, not improving his mood. “Shit, fuck....” Muttering under his breath he stared through the dark trees at the shit-hole bar he was staking out. Just a bunch of drunk ass locals, coming and going.

Something was going on with Cas, he knew it, could feel it.  
The angel, well mostly angel, was never a big talker, but he'd been too silent lately. And jumpy, every time Dean put a hand on his shoulder or nudged him out of the way if he was blocking a door, he flinched like he'd been sucker punched.  
At the same time he stayed almost stalker close, he couldn't turn around without finding a trench-coated shadow at his elbow. And now he just disappeared, ugly-ass car gone, moody angel gone..................

>>>>>>>>>>  
Two days later, working the heavy bag in the spartan gym at the bunker....listening to the smack of solid strikes.  
Dean grunted with each hit, nearly mindless with the soothing physical repetition.  
Finally he stopped....breathing hard...sweating, arms and legs aching with that good intense workout feeling.  
His knuckles were red and stinging, what's the point of wearing gloves, he always wondered... couldn't stop for gloves during a hunt.  
A bruise was starting on the side of his left ankle where he'd caught the bag wrong with a kick....stupid.  
He headed for the shower, peeling off t-shirt and gym shorts as he went, dialed the water up hot, and stood in the intense spray for a long time, not thinking, just feeling it....

Knocking the shit out of himself on the heavy bag was just one of the methods he'd been struggling with, trying to deal.  
Yeah, there were things he could do, to help push back the rage, the frustration, that simmering feeling of 'fuck it all' sometimes driving him to damage and darkness and hangovers with blood and cuts and bruises on his face and knuckles.  
Not going to talk to Sammy about it. Fuck no, that'd just bring on a shit-storm of puppy eyes and 'helping', talking-it-out for gods' sake and fuck all if he needed that to piss him off more.  
He wasn't stupid and he wasn't a damned teenager, he was a grown man (well more or less) and the whole last couple years, with the demon resurrection and the Mark and the rest of the crazy that was his fucking life.....

He was just so fucking tired, tired of going through his life like a human death-star on auto pilot.  
The Mark had scared him, bad, and when it was finally gone, without talking to Sam or dumping his shit on anybody else, he just decided to try to work it out.  
He didn't have any deep thoughts about what mental shit had made him the way he was, pretty sure the last 35+ years of his life could account for most of it. He'd just gone head-on and alone, the 'Winchester way' and started trying some new shit to take the edge off that anger living in his gut.  
Shit that didn't involve drinking himself unconscious, picking fights with bikers in bars or destroying everything within his reach. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but at least he didn't feel so completely out of control. He'd had enough of that with the Mark.

As he toweled off he stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink....damn! pushing up towards 40...pretty fucking old for a hunter.  
He was still fit, muscles hard, strong....but he was getting there. Scars and deepening wrinkles and places that ached after long hunts, when it rained, when he was tired and wrecked and lonely.  
He shook his head irritably. Dean wasn't the kind of guy to dwell on shit like that, the future always waved coyly at him....a smiling, genial deaths-head. It had been there since he was old enough to understand what it was they did. 

Hunters don't usually have a long shelf life, the few old hunters he knew, they just kept rollin' till something took 'em out He wasn't about to get all maudlin and girly about getting older, better that than the options.  
He could still get laid when he wanted, still kick the bad guys in the ass, that was good enough. It sucked when his knees ached though, he reached down and rubbed first one knee and then the other, he could remember Bobby doing that...

He shaved, threw on another t-shirt, a marginally clean pair of jeans, and went to his room. Put some old James Gang vinyl on the antique turntable, cranked it up and flopped down on the bed  
The werewolf stake-out had been a bust.....duh. Things had been quiet lately, like even the monsters were laying low, taking a deep breath. Even a malicious spirit, or a witch would be welcome....well maybe not a witch, Dean fucking hated witches.

Sam had stayed buried in the archives since they got back from Nebraska , researching some monster or curse or just killing time.  
Cas had been gone for almost a week, fucking angel, and Dean was kind of at loose ends, left to monitor the internet for any possible jobs, and entertain himself. He'd gotten better at that over the years, the waiting, even the alone time, but he was restless, (where the hell was Cas anyway?)  
Dean Winchester didn't do relaxing very well. He'd been feeling this restlessness, a jittery, need-to-go-somewhere....only it wasn't his usual, time-to-get-on-the-road feeling. Just an under his breastbone fluttering, twitchy legs, fuck he couldn't pin it down but he was feeling it.  
It wasn't clear enough to talk about with Sammy, seemed stupid and vague. He maybe could talk to Cas, but Cas wasn't here, where the fuck was Cas?

>>>>>>>>>>>  
Bright winter sunlight gleamed through a stained glass window in the foyer where Castiel sat and waited. He waited patiently, appreciating the gleaming jewel tones lighting the carpet. Humans made so much that was beautiful.  
Before he experienced humanity here on earth, he never would have thought such a thing. A simple soldier, a guardian, an observer, he knew a tremendous amount about them, but they were also an abstract to him.  
Living among them had changed Castiel profoundly. Becoming entirely human, and even now that he had a portion of his grace back, so close to being human changed him even more. Above all, Dean Winchester, seed and root of the profound change had been Dean.

Cas shifted on the deceptively comfortable looking couch. Thinking of Dean caused him a variety of discomforts and now more so than ever. This potentially dangerous visit to Chicago was his last ditch effort to find information on the current crisis (his crisis, NOT Deans he would not allow that). 

He wondered if Dean felt any effects and was sure that he would soon, then he glanced at the closed door on the other side of the room and sighed. It had been almost impossible to secure this interview, he would wait as patiently as possible.

His treacherous mind returned to Dean, but he embraced that, it gave him something more to think about than the person he was about to meet with, despite the uncomfortable swelling between his legs.  
Castiel knew full well he desired a physical relationship with Dean, he understood the link between the bodys' desires and his mental and emotional attachment. He also knew that Dean could never accept it. 

When he first came to earth, he hadn't yet made all the connections, hadn't fully grasped the hormonal tides and needs and wants of humanity. He smiled to himself, remembering how he'd stood so close to Dean, well within the “bubble”.  
He'd felt the pull, the connection that had been formed when he first touched that soul in the depths of the pit. He'd probed into his mind, spied on his dreams, watched him when he was unaware, struggling to understand this angry, fractured, damaged man. Found himself staring intensely into the green eyes, wishing to reach through the skin of humanity and reconnect with the bright, powerful soul he knew was within. 

He could see that soul with his grace, but he felt a confusing desire to see with his vessels eyes (my eyes now, he reminded himself). The eyes are the windows of the soul, that was a human saying, it made him smile again, but he understood it now.  
Poor Dean, no wonder he had been so uncomfortable, but he taught Cas, about personal space, about privacy, and he had slowly begun to learn Dean as humans learn one another.

Castiel was a lonely being. As an angel, he had forever been part of something greater, connected to his brethren, to the host in a way humans could never understand.  
He had relinquished that for Dean, and for his own spiritual morality as he began to understand more of humanity and to question the things he had always believed.  
He still felt he'd made the right choice, the vast number of terrible decisions he'd made since then did not change how he felt about casting his lot with the Winchesters.  
But the depth of his loneliness, his guilt, his sorrow since then often felt like an aching abyss in his very core. At one point he had wished to end his own existence, had been ended repeatedly and yet, here he was.  
He feared, believed that something, God, the universe, whatever comprised the great “I Am” was simply unwilling to let him go. 

Cas was pulled from his own musings when the door was opened by a small, elderly bright eyed woman who smiled at him and nodded her head.  
“Father Anaximander will see you now.”


	2. What I Need

In the kitchen, stirring a pot of chili-mac with one hand, a glass of scotch in the other Dean sang loudly and off key along with The Black Crowes......”she talks to ange-ellls....they call her out by her na-ame............”

“Hey! Dean.....!” Sam was shouting from the doorway, dusty and disheveled, his hair a tangle sticking out in all directions. He reached for the sound panel that was on the wall in almost every room and turned down the music. “You're gonna be deaf before you're fifty...”

Dean snorted, “I'll be dead before I'm fifty, you need to get a haircut dude,....seriously”

“Fuck you, just got one.” Sam went to the double fridge, got out a liter of water and tipped it up with a groan, but he ran one hand through his hair as he did it and Dean smirked into the pot he was stirring.  
“The archives are such a damn mess, I've been trying to sort shit out, so maybe we can find what we're looking for.”  
He reached a long arm over Deans shoulder and stuck a spoon into the pan. Dean swatted his over-sized mitt out of the way.

“Get a bowl you giant.....man-child. And wash your hands, you look like you been diggin' graves”

Grinning unrepentantly Sam headed for the sink while Dean dished up dinner. “Yes mom, what's with the hot meal? I figured it'd be a sandwich tonight. Are you nesting?”

Dean shot his brother a venomous look from where he sat at the small kitchen table. “Voted least likely to 'nest', ever right here. I'm sick of cold food. Not to be ungrateful but if we don't come up with a case I might lose my fuckin' mind. What's up with the evil bitches lately?”

Sam shrugged as he dug into the bowl of chili-mac. “Don't know, don't care. I'm good with a break. Hey, you heard from Cas?”

“Not a god-damn peep. Tried callin' him the other day, had to leave a voice mail and you know the feathery little bastard never checks it.”

Sam glanced up from his food to see a strained look on his brothers face. “You think there's something wrong?”

Dean swallowed his last bite and let the spoon clatter into his bowl. He looked at Sam and for a hot minute he thought about telling him how he'd been feeling, but just for a minute. “Nah, I'm just itchy and wantin' to get back out there. Hey Sammy, want to watch a movie or something tonight?”

Sam shook his head without looking back up from the chili. “Sorry Dean, I just got into some seriously deep shit about demons, I wanta get it all lined out, so we can get at it easy. There's things in there I've never seen..........”

“Fine.....” Dean interrupted, irritated and trying not to show it “I think I'll find a bar tonight, maybe I can get a little action....”

Sam watched as Dean stood up and stomped to the kitchen with his empty bowl. He was worried about his brother, inactivity was harder on the older man, he knew that. 

Over the years, Sam had settled and accepted if not embraced his life. He could even see himself, someday, if by a miracle he lived that long, assuming a place much like Bobbys'. But he was afraid that would never work for Dean, because he wouldn't let it. He'd always been moody, angry, but lately he was...different. Sam was worried but something else he'd learned over the years, he couldn't push pull or drag Dean out of a funk. The best thing he could do was leave him alone. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
Dean went on stomping around, rinsing the bowls and pouring another healthy shot of scotch. He turned the music back up and threw himself down in an old recliner they'd hauled in from a thrift store. He was bored, and itchy....but he didn't really want to go to a bar. He didn't really even feel like getting laid, well, yeah, maybe he did, but not some bar pick-up. 

He didn't sport a constant hard on, like when he was a kid, didn't get stiff every time the wind blew. Sure he still needed to get laid. He was just a little more....selective maybe? And that was a problem, because he didn't have any place in his life for even the most casual relationship.  
There were more than a few female hunters, if that was what he really wanted, but he'd left the idea of a relationship behind him with Lisa and Ben.

Ordinarily deep thoughts and sex went together like chocolate and dill pickles for Dean. Sex was just good, it felt good and made him happy, most of the time. For some reason his mind was wandering to this shit though, and he was feeling too contrary to turn it around. 

He found himself remembering those few times, years ago when he'd hook up with a guy now and then. No big deal as long as nobody found out, until his dad started hanging around with a hunter named Darnell, “hey pretty boy, get me a beer”.  
He'd been in his late teens, and he'd hated that fucking peckerwood.  
Until his 22nd birthday, in that bar in Kentucky and Darnell had called him “pretty boy” one too many times, with his hand out of Johns sight on Deans ass like he knew something. Not into his full growth yet he'd been fast, stronger than he looked, and fucking furious. He beat Darnell until John pulled him off, laughing, saying “guess you'd better lay off the pretty boy shit Darnell”. 

He'd known John would have a coronary if he ever found out Dean had been with guys, and after that, he just stopped. Even now, almost 15 years later Dean felt a shudder run through his gut at the thought of what his Dad would have said. 

 

Dean knew that deep down inside, he was scarred, so deeply scarred that it would never be fair, starting a relationship. Man or woman even if he could live with the danger it would place the other person in. The things he'd been through, the things he couldn't get out of his head and his heart, the guilt and the trauma and the need.....he couldn't put that on another person to share. No more loss either, just.......no more.............

He stood up suddenly and growled at himself. “Who turned this to the fucking Oprah channel?” It was a rhetorical question to an empty room, he felt his hand gripping the glass tighter, the urge to pitch it across the room and into a wall swelling in his head. 'It's just crazy-mad, no reason, nothing to kill here'. Slowly he relaxed his hand, breathing deep, and after a few long minutes grabbed the bottle of scotch and headed for his own bedroom.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
Among the host, there were ways to keep things quiet, secrets, things possibly perilous if known to all.  
The Fallen were among those secret things. Living among humanity, hidden and mostly ignored as long as they caused no problems.

There were rumors of course, Castiel had heard them before he fell himself. After, there didn't seem to be any use investigating rumors, other more pressing matters were always at hand.  
Until he needed information that only someone who had lived among humanity for a very long time might have, longer than any human could possibly live. 

The Fallen seldom survived for long, loneliness, inability to adapt, panic, loss of grace, all these things could bring a fallen angel death, or an attempt to return to heaven which might as well be death.

But there were a few, a very few who survived, they stayed quiet, hidden. Anaximander was rumored to be the oldest of these, said to have fallen more than 2 thousand years ago. 

It had taken Castiel much more time than he felt he could spare, tracking down this elusive fallen angel. Time, promises of favors he was not sure he could keep, and desperate pleading had brought him here. He didn't even know if the answers were here, or if he had any time left at all. 

There was just the slightest tremor in his hands, Castiel recognized the nervous sensation of “butterflies” in his belly. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked across the battered desk at the slender, nondescript “priest”. He knew his face reflected the strain, the worry he had been experiencing and he didn't try to mask that. This was his last hope of finding answers before the thing he could feel happening inside of him took all choice away. 

The elderly housekeeper bustled in and out of the office, fetching tea and coffee, asking if anyone would like some cookies, and at last left closing the door softly. 

They were alone, the silence stretching out. Cas' eyelids fluttered as he felt a cool trickle of Grace reaching into him he sighed grateful to be searched by angelic means. It gave him a heady sense of relief and he shuddered, missing that ease of communication.  
The priest sat back and spoke “I've heard of you, Castiel, you have caused a great deal of trouble among....our people.” 

Cas sighed and lifted his hands slightly, palms upturned and lowered his eyes. “There is no defense for the mistakes I've made. Free will is so much harder than I could have imagined, knowing what is the right choice, the right path. Perhaps I should have taken the path you chose...”

Anaximander shook his head, “I think that you took the path you were meant for, from the moment you pulled Dean Winchester from the pit your fate was tied to mankind. I understand the difficulty of choosing humanity over our own. What is it you need from me Castiel?”

“Something is happening to me. You have been here for a very long time, I hope long enough to have actually encountered this, this kind of thing. Human history does not reach so far back with clarity, and angels will not acknowledge it ever happened.”

The older man sat forward, leaned his arms on the desk and began to look interested, “if I can help you I will.”  
Castiel felt the tension ease a little and leaned forward himself to try and explain what he needed to know.


	3. What You Don't Know

….......fading. Unimportant, just fading. He felt easy, calm because everything was alright.  
All his tension had un-spooled like fishing line off the reel with the sound of water. A lake? No, a river. 

“Dean” the voice was quiet, clear, genderless but warm with emotion, desire

Standing still, a current of warmth ran down into his belly, and up his thighs to settle in his cock  
He was hard, felt warm breath against his erection and shivered

Looked down at tousled dark hair, ran his fingers through it urged the head down  
Gasped as warm lips and wet tongue enveloped him

It was incredible, electric, and he suddenly needed, needed to see  
Gripped the soft, rumpled dark locks pulled gently to tip that head back  
His eyes met bright, intense blue

>>>>  
“Fuck!!............” awake, gasping ”what the hell?” he asked the darkness of his room. Flopping back onto the bed, still hard and aching, Dean ran his hand over his face.   
Again with Cas, really? Fucking weird ass dreams about Cas, got started and now they Just.Would.Not.Stop. It had been years (OK, maybe just once in a damn while) since he'd had dreams like this.

All that had been safely jammed into the rusty old foot locker of crammed down shit you just gotta forget about cause it ain't happenin'.  
Dean realized his knuckles were dragging back and forth over his still throbbing dick, so 'little Dean' wasn't going to lay down on his own. Well shit, with a shivery mental shrug he slid his fingers under the waistband of his shorts to wrap them around his erection with an involuntary groan. Might as well finish what the dream had started. 

After, he stared at the ceiling, holding the bottle of scotch he'd brought in earlier and letting his head wander on it's own. It wasn't like he was getting back to sleep soon. He'd been having trouble getting to sleep, staying asleep. Drinking more wasn't working, even though he kept at it, and besides he'd been going for that “functional alcoholic” approach recently.   
The itchiness, a kind of nervous energy that seemed to vibrate his bones. Dreams, not like end-of-the-world dreams, just............Cas dreams. Shit!

Dean sat up so fast he flailed out and almost dropped the open bottle. He reached for the light by his bed and flicked it on, dimes were dropping all over the damn place. 

Can't sleep and when he did sleep, dreams with Cas in 'em lots of weird ass dreams.  
All this gotta go somewhere, do something, unfocused chest fluttering, muscle twitching shit.  
The way Cas had been acting before he left, and all this weird shit started, when he left, ding ding fucking ding.  
Dean shook his head, this seemed just stupid, but his “spidey senses” were all on full alert. There was a connection, he could feel it.

Something going on with Cas, and whatever it was Dean seemed to be going along for the ride. Shit, shit, shit, Feeling a sudden panicky rush his mind defaulted 'Castiel get your feathery ass back here right now'. Even knowing Cas couldn't zap anywhere anymore he still glanced reflexively around the dark room, sure enough, no Cas.

>>>>  
The conversation had followed one overriding theme, “is there any way this can hurt Dean?” The answer continued to be 'unlikely but no guarantees.'

Anaximander had invited him into the rectory, a simple apartment attached to the church offices. They were sitting by a small gas fireplace, after a dinner served by the housekeeper, in worn comfortable easy chairs.   
Cas ran a hand through his already messy hair. “I can't tell you how much this means to me, your help, everything you've told me. But what if, if I need to stop it?”

The priest looked at him curiously, Cas stumbled on “could it be stopped if I chose to do so?”  
“I'm afraid there's nothing that I know of, not so far into the process............”  
“Fuck!” Cas dropped his head into his hands but then looked up immediately, “I apologize for my language.”

Anaximander threw his head back and laughed suddenly, then still smiling he shook his head. “No need,” his dark brown eyes looked candidly into Cas' startled blue ones. “In Rome, I believe it was about the time of Claudius, there was a saying among the legions. 'I will fuck the skull of your dead sister', well” he waved a hand as Cas' eyebrows crawled towards his hairline. “It flowed much better in the original pidgin Latin the troops used. Nevertheless it's unlikely that you could offend me.”

Castiel was reminded of who lived beneath the outer flesh of this “priest”. It felt amazingly good, talking to one of his own. Not just another angel but an angel like himself, who had fallen. Not only fallen but survived, thrived without harm to others. Cas felt his mouth curling into an answering smile. It gave him hope, made him feel less alone. 

But now he had to go, he could feel it, his very bones were thrumming. He felt stretched, his muscles tensing with not-pain. Starting to rise from the chair he was struck with a wave of dizziness and fell back again. 

Anaximander leaned toward him with a look of concern.  
“Castiel, you've left this till far too late, you can't drive this way.” Cas looked back at him, his eyes struggling to focus and suddenly grated out the question “What if I ripped out what's left of my Grace? Would that stop it?”

The other man sat back, face tight, his eyes sharpening. “It would kill you, and why would you want to stop this so desperately?” Cas just shook his head, unable to articulate all his fears.   
The older man sat forward again, his forehead wrinkled with concern “I apologize for this, but ....”   
Cas suddenly felt a cool rush of Grace but not a subtle inquiry like before. This felt as if his skull was being gently parted by skilled hands and a clear soothing light shone into his deepest self. 

It was angelic communication at it's most powerful and Cas fell into it like a warm bath. For a moment the physical struggle was gone, he felt an echo of Anaximanders true form. Remembered in his deepest self how it had once been. Feeling the inexorable dance of planets, stars and galaxies. Hearing the music of the spheres, sensing the rush and density of great wings, for one brief moment Castiel felt how it might have been with one of his own.

Later he barely remembered, only a blurred sense of loss. Anaximanders kindness was to blame for that small mercy. Cas sat forward with a gasp, the twitching muscles and shiver in his bones slightly  
lessened. 

He looked a question at Anaximander. The older man sighed and shook his head slightly. “There is no reason for you to fight this, of all men Dean Winchester is suited to it. Don't throw yourself away because of some baseless fear. But you MUST talk to him, explain it all, you can't let this happen to him unaware. ”

Cas nodded, thinking to himself 'you don't know Dean.......' even as his new friend leaned forward, his fingers hovering over Cas forehead. “My own Grace has faded over the long years, but I can help you with this, and Castiel?” The dark eyes probed his own, “if you need, or simply want, you can come here anytime.” 

Cas started to nod but just then the effects came surging back in a howling rush. He felt sweat pop out on his forehead, his bones were vibrating he was thinning, stretching. His vision narrowed to a tunnel and the last thing he saw was the startled look on Anaximanders face.

The fallen angel stared at the empty chair where Castiel had just been sitting, his hand still outstretched to touch a forehead that was no longer there. He sat back in his own chair, wondering about this curious situation, a very rare thing indeed.

>>>>  
Groaning Dean swung his legs off the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Scrubbed his hands over his face and buried his fingers in his short hair. “Cas,” he hissed “what the hell is going on?”   
The tension that had been zinging through his muscles was escalating. This would drive him totally bat shit crazy, knowing there could be something wrong, not knowing what. Was Cas in trouble? Was he hurt? Was he all alone somewhere needing help and not able to call? 

Dean grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the top with a vicious twist and took a long swallow. Fuck it, he sucked at feeling helpless, he hated it and more booze would at least dull that fluttering in his chest, maybe. 

God dammit! Knowing his best friend (OK his only fucking friend) his, shit whatever else Cas was to him, that Cas needed him some way and he couldn't do a fucking thing. It made him want to crawl right out of his own skin, his throat tightened and there was a hot prickling behind his eyes and 'oh fuck no, no, nope'.   
Another long swallow from the bottle, a couple of deep breaths and he grabbed a little self control from out of nowhere. Back in the lock box, feelings.

He relaxed and let his eyes close.....  
Shit! Shot up off the bed, the realization striking him that the tension had disappeared and he was at the door to his room before he heard the thump against it. Jerked the bedroom door open, yep, sure as shit there was Cas. He was leaning on the door and nearly fell when it was opened.

“What the fuck Cas?!” The angel was swaying, pale, sweating, looking dazed.“Shit.....!” He lunged forward to catch Cas by the shoulders and hold him upright “what's wrong?”  
Cas looked up at him, blue eyes darkened by expanded pupils, sweat soaked hair hanging over his forehead “Dean....” he rasped out ”I have to tell you....I...” his focus seemed to fade again and Dean jerked him towards the bed, not wanting to carry his dead weight if he went down, kicking the door shut as they went. 

He got the angel to sit on the bed, head lolling, gasping a little.....then sat beside him, his heart erratic, mind leaping from one thing to another. What was wrong? Where had he been, mostly, just what the fuck was going on?

“OK buddy.” he tried to keep his voice steady and calm. ”I'm not goin' anywhere............”  
With a heavy sigh Cas laid back onto the bed, closed his eyes, his breathing slowed, steadied and after a moment Dean realized he was asleep.   
Really? Just like that, boom! at the door and then asleep? He reached out a cautious hand and checked Cas' pulse, steady and strong, the sweat drying on his face, his breathing easy. 

Dean checked himself, no flutter in his chest, no twitchy legs, no need to go! go! anywhere. All of a sudden he was exhausted, like he hadn't slept for a week.   
So, he was right, not too sure how he felt about that with no other answers right now. All he knew was he needed to lay down before he passed out. 

Making a huge effort he grabbed Cas' shoulders and worked the dead weight of sleeping angel around until he could pull him up onto the bed more or less. Made it to the other side and flopped down, just managing to pull a blanket over himself before sleep caught him too.


	4. No Time Like the Present

>>>>  
The kitchen smelled like bacon and toast and the pot of coffee Sam had started before he left for groceries and beer. Dean actually felt pretty damn good. Hell of a lot better than he had for the past week, he'd slept hard, and late, with no dreams. When he woke up Cas was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't worry him because, well because he could feel him, somewhere in the bunker. That shit right there should be reason enough to worry, but he couldn't ask questions until Cas showed his face. 

Sam had been on his way out the door on the supply run when Dean made it to the kitchen, tossing out a comment about maybe heading up to see Jody Mills later. That made Dean smirk, no sparks flying there, huh uh, none at all. He'd waved his brother out with a mouthful of bacon and figured 'good, Cas and I got shit to talk about'.

Dean didn't do patient well, but he was doing his damnedest. The only reason he hadn't hunted Cas down this morning and tried to shake answers out of him, the angel didn't respond well to pressure like that. He was just setting the frying pan in the dish drainer when he heard the soft rustling sounds of somebody coming into the kitchen. Glancing over his shoulder he offered the most casual “Hey Cas.” that he could muster  
The answer was a non-committal grunt as he went straight for the coffee, like always. Cool as a cuc and domestic as shit Dean busied himself with wiping down the counter, and the stove before he refilled his own coffee cup and sat down at the Formica topped table. 

Cas still looked tired, face drawn, dark smudges under the blue eyes, dark hair damp from a shower and still every which way. Wearing sweat pants and one of Deans t-shirts (as usual) and an old pair of slippers he must have found somewhere. Dean felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy, but he'd used up all his waiting, and all his patience for at least the next week, it was time for some answers. 

“Cas...” The angel sighed and looked up. “C'mon, talk to me. Something's going on man, what is it?”  
The slightest hint of apprehension flirted with Cas' normally impassive face, his eyes cautious and dark. Dean bit down hard on his impatience, trying to give him the room to start. Cas took another swallow of coffee, set the cup aside and laced his fingers together. 

“This is not easy for me to talk about. If it did not involve you, I believe, I would not...”  
Shit, angel basic 101, will default to stilted speech when really fucking freaked out. Suddenly he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was coming. Cas drew a hand over his face in an unsettlingly human gesture. 

“You know that angels have no gender, in our true forms, but, that does not mean that we form no bonds...” a long pause, he seemed to steel himself and looked up again to meet Deans eyes.  
“These are things that humans simply have no knowledge of. An angel would never speak of this to a human.” Was that a blush of embarrassment? “Occasionally,” a clearing of his throat, “two angelic beings will begin to feel the forming of, a Bond. Two angels will be drawn together, and, and the bond is formed in ways that I can't actually explain to you. I would have to say it in Enochian, humans language can not describe it.” 

'What the fuck?' Dean thought, 'is Cas giving me the angel version of the birds and the bees?'

“This is not a sexual joining,” well, thank god for small favors, “although they do become, Bonded together. I am, sorry Dean, I do not have the words to describe it fully. It is something very significant, although not many angels experience it. We don't really know why or how it happens, but it is not in our nature to question, it simply IS.“

Dean kept his mouth determinedly closed, and tried to look encouraging and not amused. Despite feeling mostly confused by all this angelic crap, it was kind of funny to see Cas embarrassed.

Cas stood suddenly, grabbed his cup and went to the coffee maker but then leaned against the counter, just holding his cup and staring at the cupboards overhead. Deans patience had worn down to a tiny thin thread and he was gripping his cup way too hard, when he abruptly refilled his cup, returned to the table and sat down.

“In my present condition I would not expect to, experience the developing of a Bond. There is no circumstance I can imagine wherein a Bond with another angel would or could form. But even the fraction of my Grace that is left, is capable of recognizing what is happening.” He laced his fingers around the cup and looked up at Dean who felt a tingle of increased apprehension, 'shit, not so funny now.'  
“There is no other angel involved in this Bonding process.”

Uh oh. The hair prickled up on the back of his neck and his stomach dropped. Deans quick, hunter mind sorted, correlated, he pushed back his chair and stood. “It's me, isn't it?” he blurted out, “I'm in the Bond, right?” 

“I believe so, yes.” The impassive angel stare was totally fucked by that hint of wildness around those deep blue eyes. The downside of being fairly fluent in Cas. Dean grabbed a couple of breaths, frozen in place. Definitely so not funny. Fighting a rush of panic he forced himself to keep thinking. So, he'd known he was caught up in something, not exactly what he'd expected (what had he expected?) Absolutely more info was needed here.

“Um, OK Cas. So maybe you could give me a little more, I don't know, words? What's gonna happen, to me?” He cautiously sat back down, brain stuttering a little but 'I'm OK here' he told himself. Sooo, if this is 'angel crap' how can I be, y'know, in it?”

“Dean, there is no responsibility on your part. I believe this was brought about by my lifting you from hell and, and our closeness since then. And of course my loss of so much grace, the increased connection to this human form. This situation is not without, precedence.” Cas paused for so long that Dean felt his nerves ramping up even more. Finally he went on.

“This has happened before, long in the past, that humans and angels formed a sort of Bond, but it was so long ago, I have been searching for answers. There is very little to be gotten from Heaven, even if I still had access, among the Host it is considered debasing, forbidden...” Cas looked miserably at his hands laying on the table. 

“Shit....” Dean slumped back down into his chair. ”we've got to get Sam in on this Cas, he's been working in the archives...”  
“No!” Cas' head jerked up, he leaned across the table to stare at Dean intensely. “Please, Dean I'm begging you, don't involve Sam. This is hard enough already, and there are things you don't know yet.”  
Startled by the angels sudden intensity Dean blinked, then nodded slowly. “OK, OK Cas, at least until I've got the whole story, no Sammy.”

The angel and the hunter stared across the table at each other. Deans head was spinning with questions, but he couldn't stop thinking, 'son of a bitch! I knew I was gonna end up in some kinda shit storm.'

>>>>

Castiel was grateful when Sam announced his intention of leaving the bunker for a day or two. This was hard enough without Deans younger brother there to confuse things even more.  
He had been so grateful for Anaximanders help, the reassurance that Dean should not be hurt by this had taken a great weight off his mind. Still he knew, when he looked deep into his darkest self, that his greatest fear was not for Deans physically well-being, or concern over the depth of his heterosexuality. Castiel was afraid of the potential loss, of Deans friendship. After everything they had been through over the years Cas felt as if they had reached a point of balance. That the relationship between them was comfortable, that their need for and enjoyment of one anothers company was accepted. That there was trust between them again.

He had accepted and dealt with the fact there would be no sexual relationship. It was their friendship that Cas needed the most. Beyond what had happened between human soul and angel in the rescue from the Pit, as he was now Cas needed Dean. He needed him like growing things need light and water. 

Cas slumped down further into the corner of the old leather couch. There was something very soothing about the library, a place of stored human knowledge, redolent of old paper, ink, even parchment. The bunker itself felt like safety, a measure of ease despite his state of suspension. Not one thing, not the other, cut off from his original home but unable to fully become a member of this earthly plane, where he had chosen to remain. 

When Dean walked into the room and threw himself down at the other end of the couch, Cas reflected bitterly for a moment on the myriad issues of human flesh. Hormones, pheromones, so many things to struggle with when want met can't.  
Dean poured a healthy shot of Scotch, and handed the bottle down.  
Cas debated with himself for a moment, got up and went to the sidebar for a glass. Sitting back down he filled the glass, (his grace still gave him a certain resistance to alcohol) and passed the bottle back to Dean. Taking a long swallow he watched Dean with caution. 

Fairness was no part of human life, still...there was a reasonable limit to Cas' stoicism. Deans fair skin was slightly flushed, his dark blonde hair disarrayed. His broad chest strained the t-shirt he was wearing, until he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Then the strong muscles of his lightly freckled arms and shoulders dominated. He held his glass in one work hardened hand, Cas noted scrapes across his knuckles. He took a drink and aimed impossibly green eyes at Castiel. 

“C'mon Cas.” he growled, “let's finish talking about this, so we can figure out what we've gotta do next.”  
There was yet another danger, Deans need to take care of family. That could drive him to take risks he should not. 

“Dean, I told you that you don't have any responsibility in this.” Cas took another large drink and went on determinedly. “You are not obligated to fix it, I needed to explain what was happening, because I felt sure you were feeling the effects of the Bond trying to form. You don't have to accept this, I'm very concerned about what will happen to you,” he looked down, and shifted on the couch, “both physically and emotionally.” 

It was uncomfortable being this disingenuous, but he understood Dean well enough to know how he hated feeling pressured. If he thought he was being manipulated, or cornered he would respond like an angry bull. Cas simply could not decide how to approach, everything, and still believe that Dean would feel free to make a good decision, for Dean, not for Castiel.

“Pppfft,” Dean made a rude noise with his mouth, “whatever, keep talkin'”

Cas shook his head, “The last time angels freely walked the earth is so far in the past it is at the very edge of humanities history, and for angels, the problems caused by those interactions brought on the complete ban of angel-human contact.” Until a human soul needed to be rescued from hell, remained unspoken. “Such things are known as abomination now. But, I did find some lore, some ancient texts, and ultimately a source.”

Although Cas did his best to present a calm and confident exterior, he feared that Dean had learned to read him too well. The hunters' nerves were increasing, he recognized that clenched teeth determination. To understand what was going on, to protect Cas, to fix it. 

Dean waved a hand at Cas' careful speech. “Yeah, fine. Let's get down to brass tacks an shit. What happens to you, if we figure out how to stop the Bond?”  
Cas couldn't control his eyes, this was the thing he had hoped to avoid. He looked involuntarily away from Dean, to the books on the shelves, to the map table, back to Dean.  
“Damn it, I know that look. You might be able to lie, but you're not good at it, and don't give me best case, just fucking tell me.”

With a slow nod, Castiel gave in to the inevitable. “There have been so few times that a Bond has not been completed, very little is known about the effects, but the best information I could find suggests the angel might,” he paused, searching desperately for the least inflammatory wording “withdraw, lose some sense of themselves, cease to function for a time. That is in our angelic form, I have no idea what might happen to me. This is so very different, I am almost completely tied to this human vessel now.”

He took another mouthful of the thus far ineffective alcohol, as Dean ran a hand over his face. “Sounds to me like you're saying you could lose your mind, or worse you don't fucking know?” He jumped up and started pacing, and Cas' eyebrows knit involuntarily. How did he do that? So quickly work his way through angelic word-smithing straight to the central facts? It was, irritating to say the least.  
“So what happens if we do this bonding thing? Is it like, getting married? Do you have to, what, live in my room? Do I get some kinda angel powers and you get some of my special way with the ladies, will we be attached at the hip?” Deans voice had risen as he talked, then he was on his feet, stomping back and forth. Cas understood that fear for himself, for both of them and a growing sense of helplessness was driving him. Suddenly he stopped and looked Cas hard in the eye, “So how did you end up at my door last night Cas? You didn't drive back here from where ever did you?”  
In some way that Castiel couldn't quantify, something deep and wound too tight, tangled angel with humanity, his own anger reared up inside.

“No Dean, I was brought back here!” He heard the snarl in his voice and saw Dean pull back in surprise. “I was in a meeting with someone who had information that could help, and then, I was here. Most of this I have no control over!”

Dean blinked “Like, zapped?” The tension seemed to drain out of Cas as quickly as it came.

“I simply don't know. It was, a difficult experience. The Bond is Grace related, and somehow I was brought back here. To you.”

“Shit.” They stared at each other for a long moment. “OK, so did this mystery person help?” 

He felt an unwilling smile pulling at his lips, “His name is Anaximander, he is a fallen angel, and he has been here for a very long time. Yes, he gave me a few answers.”

“What.The.Fuck? Another fucking fallen angel?” He stepped up to where Cas still sat on the couch, looking down at him with a green eyed glare. 

“You wanna share with the class? What exactly do you know about this kind of bond between an angel and a plain old human? Will we turn into some kind of angel/human hybrid? Cas, am I gonna get pregnant?”  
As Dean threw himself back down at his end of the couch Cas choked back a snort of laughter. The anger had passed, and the way Dean could pull him back and forth emotionally, he often couldn't decide if he should laugh, or scream.

“Nothing so drastic Dean, the human form isn't made for true angelic Bonding, in the cases of male-female Bonds there were sometimes children born, they are referred to as giants, or heroes in the lore I found, this is even mentioned in your own biblical texts, briefly. There were also Bonds between males, and bonds between females. I found nothing to suggest that death or even physical damage occurred due to these Bondings, Anaximander confirmed that, but there are no guarantees. Once the Bond is completed...”

“Wait, wait. Children? So this is like more than just a 'blood brothers' kind of thing. How do we do this? What happens? There's something you're not telling me.”

Cas looked directly into Deans eyes and steeled himself. ”There seems to be something about human physiology, and the demands of the Bond, that requires, at least always seems to involve, a physical joining...”

“Sex? Are you trying to say we have to...um...fuck?” Dean voice had jumped by at least an octave, and cracked, yes Castiel had definitely heard a break there.

It was Cas' turn to stand and begin to pace while Dean just stared at him.  
“Dean, I would never ask you to do this against your will. It may be uncomfortable for you until my side of the Bond resolves itself...”

Dean leaped up again and intercepted Cas in his nervous pacing. Grabbing his arm above the elbow he stared at the angel in sudden fury. Now it was Cas' turn to be startled.  
“You mean until you lose your fucking mind, or implode, or whatever the fuck it is angels do when they try and stop this! No way! What do you think is gonna happen to me while your off being psycho? You and Sam, you're all I've got, I'm not gonna let you waltz off to the angel rubber-room and leave me here.” 

Suddenly the anger was back, a blaze of heat that made his jaws ache and for just a moment he felt the leap of his Grace, struggling to rally to whatever pulled such intensity from him. He felt his eyes narrow dangerously and pulled his arm out of Deans grasp as his frustration and anger flared fully to meet Deans own.  
“Dean you don't understand, I will NOT let this endanger...” he paused glaring. “If necessary I'll do whatever is needed to stop it!”

Dean was breathing hard, anger and stress and fear fighting for primacy on his face.  
“Like what? Leave? Oh that's right, you'll just get yanked right back here by your Grace or what ever!”

“I can tear out my Grace!” Cas shouted in sudden fury.

The room went silent. Dean was staring at the angel in shock. He knew what that meant, and Cas was shocked himself. How could he have allowed those words to escape? That had been his last fallback to protect Dean if necessary, but now he would be forewarned. How could he have let go of that? 

Cas felt his fingers loosen on the glass, it fell, whiskey spilling out. Could he have handled this more poorly? He was out of words, simply turned and walked from the room, leaving Dean standing alone.


	5. The Only Thing to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anyone still following this I apologize for the long break. There was family trauma and drama, moving (twice!) and just shit that got in the way. I promise it will be much sooner for the next chapter. And sex! Swear to god real live porny sex.

Light was fading from the late winter sky in that brief time between the setting of the sun and full dark. Still a clear steel gray in the west, full dark in the east. A few bright stars showing already and the moon rising. Castiel could see faint outlines of fields stretching away to the northwest, black shapes of trees marking fence lines and a twinkling farmhouse light far off in the deeper darkness to the east. He liked to stand on the low hill above the bunker, where the remains of an old power plant rusted in silence. A faint path led through dried weeds and wild grasses from the bunker door to the hill top, up here he could breath, open to the earth and the sky. 

Castiel had been standing there since before the sun set, doing his best to put his thoughts, and his feelings, in order. What he was feeling now was shame, not a pleasant emotion. 

He had learned much in the starting-stopping of his life as human over the last years. Eating, sleeping, defecation, cleaning himself. Easier lessons than interaction with other humans, navigating emotions, feelings. Dean had helped him through it all, teasing, complaining, with bursts of anger, with sudden kindnesses and blunt words Dean had pushed and pulled and urged him through life as a human. Dean was his touchstone for this life. 

At times it seemed an impossible task, learning to live life as something so alien to his true self. But over time his perception of “true self” had changed, morphed into something more human, less angelic, yet still conflicted. He had hoped that in time he would reach some sort of balance, a cohesion between his angelic self and his human self.

So little of his original Grace was left, he could feel it leaking away slowly, relentlessly. He kept it coiled close inside himself as there seemed no way to stabilize it. He was doing his best to use this body, his body, in purely human fashion. Since he'd been fully sundered from Heaven his Grace would not restore itself even to the small portion he'd gotten back. Cas felt he would soon be only human, and he yearned to have achieved acceptance and peace within himself when that time arrived. 

His angelic sensibilities felt the approaching of a Bond as one of the Great Mysteries, his angelic mind said “The Bond is sacred, it is for the benefit of both, it should be completed” simple, straight forward, no questioning.   
His human mind was much more conflicted, that so difficult to manage, rebellious, still in some ways unfamiliar part of him. That part had been rampaging and sweeping the rest of him along with it. On the one hand, he did want this, the physical joining, the intimate human contact that his body and emotions craved. 

Being cut off from the host felt like a punishment, and it was meant to be so. Castiel felt it as pain, and guilt that made it difficult to express those feelings. Still he needed this, he was so tired of being alone and Dean was the person he wanted to be with. But he also knew that Dean recoiled from intimacy. His fear that somehow the friendship they had built, re-built would be damaged by this was crippling his ability to reason. Yet again he had made mistakes. Blood flooded his face, hot in the icy chill of night air. His hands clenched convulsively where he had buried them in the pockets of his light jacket.

His anger earlier, his stumbling attempts to manage this situation. Dean pulled emotions from him so easily, like blood from an open wound. Anger, joy, desire -and there was the worst of it, he wanted this so, so badly. His fears, when he looked deep inside were not for Dean, not even entirely for their stabilizing friendship. It was for his own heart, that Dean would eagerly have sex with him for the sake of the Bond and then would pull away . 

He'd always known that Dean wanted him, in those early years there were times that it rolled off of him in waves of pheromones and heat. Sometimes the intensity of those green eyes felt like an actual touch on his skin. Just thinking about it sent a shudder through him that had nothing to do with the cold. The only thing that had stopped him from falling into that vortex of desire was the understanding that Dean would never, could never give him what he wanted. Dean feared intimacy much more than a room full of monsters.   
Castiel might understand the reasons for this deep seated neurosis but he also knew that he could never accept being no more than a physical pleasure for Dean.   
There was the true shame, that he had been unable to face his own fear. This decision was not his to make, all rhetoric about “ripping out” his Grace aside. In his weakened state it was unlikely that was even an option. And he knew that he was too human now to honestly choose that. He wanted Dean, and whatever danger that put his stupid errant heart in (foolish organ to assign emotions to, brain would be more realistic), it seemed even a Great Mystery was determined he get his wish. 

Castiel tipped back his head to watch the stars appearing in the fast darkening sky, and did his very best to release the fear. He pulled in a deep breath until his sinuses were tingling with the late winter chill, and exhaled in a cloud of white. Suddenly he was aware of the biting cold, his ears and nose and cheeks were stinging with the chill. His feet felt numb, he shoved his hands further into his coat pockets, inhaled deeply again and forced his shoulders to relax as his breath plumed out in another cloud.

************************

Dean had made his way up the hill in the near dark, with a minimum of stumbling. He knew this was where he'd find Cas. It was getting cold, he could feel the sweat chilling on his body.   
He'd fought it out with the heavy bag before he felt ready to talk again. But he was still nervous, a little scared and under it all long-buried arousal sizzled. It frustrated him because he knew he sucked at this, talking, normal shit that civilians did all the time.   
He knew he was by no means stupid, but communication was not a muscle he exercised willingly. Action satisfied Dean, he was good at it. Talking on the other hand made him feel like a lumbering, incoherent neanderthal. 

He stopped below the crest of the hill, looking up at the dark shape of Cas barely outlined by the light of the rising moon.

Hey,” he spoke softly, the way you'd approach a nervous animal, still shaken by Cas' outburst in the library.   
Cas turned then and looked down at him, reached out and touched the top of his head with his palm. His fingers moved briefly in Deans hair before he withdrew his hand and it sent a thrill through him that shot straight from his scalp to his crotch and inner thighs. For a moment Dean thought he'd go to his knees from the unexpected rush of feeling but he drew in a deep breath and fought it off, his thoughts jumbled versions of 'shit, shit...amazing.' 

When Cas spoke, he seemed to have resolved his internal concerns. His voice was controlled, assured, angel to the core.  
“I want to tell you exactly what will happen during the Bonding.” So, no foreplay, just straight into it.

“Humans are not really made for the kind of mind joining that is involved in a Bond. Something about the act of sex, the chemicals that the brain produces, helps to allow that joining. Humans, are the most open to one another during sex, that is why........” he'd been speaking calmly although his voice trailed off for a moment, Dean bit down and kept all the awkward, struggling words determinedly on the inside. Saw Cas turn to face him on the dark up-slope of the hill.  
“When this happened in the past, the pair were, already involved. There was seldom an issue of consent.....”  
“Look, Cas....” Dean took a step closer but Castiel cut him off.  
“Please Dean, let me finish telling you......” They were no more than two shapes of thicker darkness in the night now, except for the ghostly exhalations of their breathing, curling towards one another through icy air.   
“There is a sharing of thoughts specific to one another, memories. This does not last. It is not mind reading per se, but I can understand you could be uncomfortable with it. After, there is an awareness of the other, not of thoughts, maybe feelings. That can be controlled, with practice. I'm sorry I haven't explained this very well. It frightens me, and I don't trust my own decisions as I once did. This must be your decision. I cannot make it for you.”

Then he stood, looking down in the dark, waiting for Deans response. But Dean had already decided, there was no way in hell that Castiel angel of the Lord was gonna rip out his fucking Grace to keep from maybe bruising Dean Winchester.  
“Cas we're gonna fix this, and I think we've gotta do it soon. Y'know you might have poked around in my head before you knew better, but I guess there's still stuff you don't know about me. It won't be the first time I've done the horizontal bop with a guy. I'm not gonna run out of the room screaming and crying. You know that I'm a stubborn bastard when I decide something, and I've made up my mind, we're doing this, last word, no arguments.” 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
Standing in the shower, Dean alternated between mentally kicking himself in the ass, and worrying about what was going to happen.   
Dean was no fool, maybe not as smart as Sammy but not many were. He was no slouch himself, just preferred action to so much thinking. He knew the stupid lock box in his mind wasn't the healthiest way to deal with shit. But it had worked for him all his life, and he'd rather leave it all alone than worry over things he couldn't change. If you couldn't have it, why let it get in the way of the life you had to live?   
But shit, everything he'd imagined with Cas was locked away down there and now he could feel the lid shifting and creaking, things trying to get out that he'd only felt during dreams and brief moments of weakness.

He thought his 'action-first' approach to everything was maybe going to bite him in the ass, yet again. Now that he was committed to it, he was getting nervous. After all, neither him or Cas really knew what was going to happen, there could be some kind of god-awful......something..........  
OK, there wasn't any way to guess about that shit, so just put it aside. He tipped his head back and stood in the stream of water, letting it rinse away the soap and his undefined concerns.

While he shaved, and dutifully brushed his teeth, he wondered, could he really do it with Cas without falling into some fucking snake pit of feelings?   
It had been a long time since he'd touched another guy that way, years. Would Cas be into it? How far did it have to go? He realized that he was staring blindly at the mirror, toothbrush motionless, and to his own surprise his cock about half-hard. He grinned to himself, OK, he probably could do it. 

But why had Cas been so freaked out about it in the library? Was it just his angel-side trying to protect Dean?  
No matter what Cas said about Dean surviving a refused Bond, he was sure that wouldn't be pretty. At the least he thought Cas might lose his mind, and he couldn't let that happen, not again, just not acceptable.

Shit sort of flashed through his mind for a long minute. He thought about just getting in his car, driving away, but he couldn't, wouldn't. He remembered how Cas had looked standing in the doorway, shivering and disoriented.   
He'd figured out why Cas had seemed so sick when he'd come back, he'd gone too far away, stayed away too long, and the Bond that was forming, whatever it was, had pulled him back, hard. Suddenly he knew, a deep gut feeling, that even if it didn't kill them, it would leave both of them broken in some profound way. Dean wouldn't let that happen, whatever needed to be done, they'd do it and take care of the rest later. 

Rock bottom? After all these years, after all the sweaty fantasies and jerk off sessions in the shower, and the Impala, and motel rooms, pretty much anywhere he was alone and not fighting for his life those first couple of years. After all the pain and suffering and denial there was a perfectly legitimate excuse that REQUIRED him and Cas to fuck. Dean ran a hand through his short hair, tightened the towel wrapped around his waist and let a quick smile slip across his face.   
Fucking awesome!


	6. It's On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this, I've had a long several months of serious family and personal issues. Trying to pick it up again and get something done. This is really just the first part of a longer chapter but I feel like I need to get this section off my plate so I can move on. I've stared at it for so long that I can't really see it anymore.  
> I promise I will have the rest up before the end of this week.  
> If anybody has anything to say, please do it, I promise not to cry, at least not on AO3.

Deans room smelled like, well, like Dean. Castiel could identify gun oil and motor oil and the cheap detergent they used at the bunker and whiskey and Johns old secret recipe for waterproofing his boots and the spearmint gum Dean chewed.  
Cas wasn't sure if he'd over stepped by simply walking in, but Deans exact words had been 'come to my room', the door wasn't latched and swung open when he'd knocked. He looked around curiously. Cas had been in this room many times but seldom alone. One of the first lessons of humanity he'd learned was how they valued private spaces, including the inside of their own heads.  
That had been a surprise to Castiel, but Dean had made the concept of privacy very clear. Cas' lips turned up in a slight smile, remembering that lesson. 

He saw the jeans Dean had been wearing earlier in the box he used for a clothes hamper, the hoody he'd been wearing draped over the back of a chair. There was music coming quiet out of an old radio. Perhaps Dean had just stepped out for a moment. 

Briefly Cas debated but then decided the invitation had been clear enough. He took several steps into the room until he was close to the neatly made bed.  
For long seconds he stared at the smoothed spread, the worn old wool blanket folded at the foot. He had accepted that this would happen. Endless ages as a soldier had taught him how to move forward into the unknown when other options were no longer available.  
But that mental acceptance couldn't settle his very human physiological anticipation, the way his stomach jittered unsettlingly. His palms were damp, his breath felt short, and his cock was swelling with interest, starting to draw it's own conclusions.  
Experience had taught him that pressing on rebellious genitalia would only make things worse. His brows drew down a bit, as he struggled to think of something other than the damned bed. 

To his everlasting embarrassment, the thing he had found himself obsessing over after his shower had been, of all foolishness, what clothing to wear.  
He'd settled on his FBI clothes, dark slacks and white button down shirt. It seemed right to wear something other than jeans or sweat pants and a t-shirt. But now, standing in this room, with so much of Dean around him he thought he may have been wrong. Dean was not terribly bound by social mores himself. Maybe he would feel that Cas' clothes were unnecessarily formal, these small details of human social behavior were still confusing for Cas and the strong human emotions he was struggling with made it even more difficult to parse them correctly.  
He ran his hand through his hair in a move that had already become habit, before he remembered he had combed it and now ruined that effort.  
He snorted out an irritated breath. Then his eyes flicked back to the dresser where Dean kept his clothes and he had another thought. He regularly wore Deans clothes, having so few of his own. He could just change quickly into jeans and a t-shirt.  
With a nervous look around he slipped out of the slacks, folded them carefully, laid them on the desk and started to unbutton his shirt. 

To his horror his hands were trembling slightly, the buttons were small and recalcitrant. He tried to tell himself this was ridiculous, it was only a physical act, just sex, to ease the forming of the Bond.  
His hands still trembled, his mind still worried at all the things that could go wrong. 

************************************  
Deans steps slowed as he got closer to his room. Towel around his waist, in a pair of old slippers he felt better.  
Earlier, standing just inside the bunker door, cold, nervous, and covered in frozen work out sweat he'd felt completely unable to come at this thing with anything close to common sense.  
Now though, warm and showered he couldn't stop thinking about it and it wasn't excitement over the long imagined sex with Cas either. 

He'd been telling himself it was just another sexual adventure, to keep the nerves away maybe. Maybe to just keep all that other shit away, but if it was gonna happen, it was probably time to tear the lid off the fucking lock box and get it all out there.  
Lie to the world maybe, but he had to stop lying to himself before he was in the middle of something he couldn't deal with. This was Cas, and whatever Cas was to him, it was more than 'best friend'.  
Dean wouldn't even think the “L word”, the older he got the less he felt like he really understood that word. Didn't trust it, didn't trust what other people meant when they said it.  
The way he loved Sammy, that was solid and true and without question. Anything else was just, the unknown. 

But Cas was important, to him, more than anybody else but Sam. If Cas was hurt, or damaged by this he didn't think he could forgive himself.  
Only a few steps from his bedroom door he had slowed almost to a stop, staring at the floor and trying to get his head around what was going to happen. 

He thought he should have talked to Sam no matter what Cas said, should have at least given him a heads up that he might come back to his brother and the angel in a heaven-fried pile on Deans bed, or zapped to another dimension or... Dean rolled his shoulders, gave them a shake to throw off the nerves.  
Awesome, yeah it was fucking awesome alright. 

With a deep sigh Dean stepped inside the door, eyes still at his feet, deep in thought. 

He almost walked right in to Cas, standing beside the bed, tousled hair still damp, shaved and showered in nothing but a pair of briefs, dark socks and a white button down shirt. Cas' FBI pants were folded on the desk, his hands fumbling with the last buttons on the shirt.  
Always so god-damned literal. But what had he expected? 'Come to my room and we'll get this figured out..' he had said, no shit.  
Fuck, Dean felt blind-sided nonetheless, couldn't do shit but stand there in a towel and flip-flops like a fucking idiot.  
Cas was staring back at him, blue eyes serious, and questioning. The moment stretched out, a beat too long, and just as Cas started to speak, Dean spoke over him.

“Dean.....”

“Cas, I swear to God if you say I don't have to do this one more time I'll........I'll tie you to that bed .... and......”  
'Oh shit, what the fuck did I just say?' Dean pulled himself up short while his brain went AWOL for a minute and could only tell him, 'stop talking, just, stop.'  
Cas had the heart of a lion in battle, but he could be sliced wide open with wrong words, and Dean was so, so good at saying the wrong things.  
Before he could over think it he walked right up to the other man, reached out and very carefully put his hands over Cas' where he was mangling those bottom buttons. 

'What the hell,' he thought to himself, feeling a little light headed. 'Lock and load Winchester, this is thing is out of the gate already...'

With an effort he gentled his voice, “Stop worrying.....it's gonna be fine.”  
Miraculously Cas closed his mouth and stayed silent. 

Dean carefully pulled Cas' hands away and slipped the last buttons, his own hands shaking just a little, reached up to Cas' shoulders and slid the shirt off.  
His shoulders were warm, smooth, solidly muscled and he smelled clean, like soap and that herby shampoo of Sams that he liked to use. Under that was the smell of himself, something slightly musky and deep, Cas own smell that he thought he'd recognize anywhere, fuck his life.  
Dean felt a tremor inside himself, a slow curl of desire starting and he got a little stuck then. 

He couldn't stop looking, at the dark shadow of tomorrows beard that always seemed to show under Cas' clear, pale skin. The tangle of dark hair that would never stay combed down, his dark eyebrows just slightly pulled together as he stared back at Dean.  
Those fucking blue eyes. A long time ago Dean had looked into those eyes and thought, 'the damned blue-standard, everything blue starts right there'.  
Cas' mouth, which had figured heavily in many fantasies, full lips that looked soft, even when they were chapped and dry. He caught himself licking his own lips looking at Cas' mouth.

Then with no warning Cas stepped forward, and just pressed himself against Dean hips to shoulders. Belated, his arms went around Deans body, like he wasn't sure how to do this. He pushed his face into Deans shoulder and let out a harsh shuddering breath.  
Dean was ruined right then, pulled apart in ways he couldn't even describe. Could feel the slight hitching of Cas breath through his chest and belly, a minute trembling in every inch of his friends body. His arms tightened convulsively around Cas' shoulders, one hand slid up to cup his neck and his fingers found the soft curl of hairs there. His other hand palmed down between Cas shoulders, felt the solid muscles each side of his spine, slid slowly up and down, trying to put reassurance into his touch. 

Cas didn't know how to do this, of course he didn't. Dean hated that the first and probably only time Cas had sex, it was with someone that didn't care about him. Someone that was actually only there to hurt him. 

So he came in here, dressed in the only good clothes he had. Not sure of what to do, trusting Dean to make this work out.  
Dean didn't know what to do either, not really. Massive past experience didn't translate to understanding whatever this was. It sure as fuck wasn't a quick hand job in an alley or a blow job in the bathroom at some scuzzy bar. It wasn't a seduction, or a party, or a quickie in the backseat of the Impala. It was something that Dean didn't have a name for but it felt really, really good.

Beyond that it was right, was suddenly like playing a game of Blind Man's Bluff with an invisible hand on his back, guiding him. He just KNEW, could feel it, not just in the increasing stretch of his erection, but in his gut, and his chest, and his head.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>  
Cas was overwhelmed. Humans were contrary to the outer limit of the word. Before he could even try to explain himself Dean had come so close that Castiel could barely think. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, to smell the deep, clean scent that was only Dean and no one else. His hands had been unexpectedly gentle as he moved Cas' own away from the treacherous buttons. Cas found himself staring at Deans face, the way he frowned so seriously at the little buttons as he slipped each one loose.

Deans voice had gone gentle, soothing. When he slipped the shirt off Cas' shoulders his hands, broad and blunt fingered with calloused palms stayed there easy and warm. He looked into Cas' face for a long time, eyes searching and for all he looked back Cas couldn't find the flirtatious, smirking expression he'd feared. 

Instead he saw Dean without his armor, the soft unprotected underbelly of his heart that he exposed so seldom. Cas had seen it, not often but enough to recognize it here. When he saw how Dean looked at him every wall, every fortification that he'd tried to protect himself with simply crumbled. He felt a thin sliver of fear, but it was overwhelmed by the flood of need, to be closer, to touch.

Nothing was as he had expected, or feared. Some combination of all the things that he was lacking, cut off from communion with the host, alone, not entirely human but barely an angel. His over-riding need for connection, for intimacy all funneled of necessity into the closest connection humanity was capable of. 

He desired Dean, and he needed him, at a level he barely understood himself. With the added impetus of the Bond forming, pulling at him like tidal force, Castiel was swept past his own self imposed restrictions like they didn't exist. Deans emotions slipping through him, the returned desire and affection, and need was like a heady drug. He was surrounded by the scent of Dean and the feel of Deans skin against his own. 

The hand on his back was calloused but gentle, rubbing up and down his spine and the hand in his hair was moving slowly, cupping his head, teasing his scalp into shivers. Dean turned his face down just enough to rub his cheek slightly against Cas' head.  
At that his hands released their desperate clutching and started sliding, the pads of his fingers curious and exploratory across broad back muscles, smooth soft skin, finding the scars he'd been unable to heal. His face was pressed into the bend of Deans neck and shoulder. Where the skin went from soft to weathered, Cas moved his mouth slightly, and Deans body twitched in response, he muttered something unintelligible into Cas' hair and then pulled back. 

Face flushed, pupils wide, lips parted, Dean gasped in a breath. “Cas, there's something...I feel something weird...like not me.”

It was a struggle to wrench his attention from the flood of sensations but he'd forgotten Dean wouldn't recognize this. His hands still moving over Deans back, breathing heavily he forced out words to explain.  
“The bond, you're sensing what I feel Dean. I know, and I'm sorry, any other time I could block this but at this moment...” 

Dean looked at him with something like amazement and shook his head.  
“No, hey, it's kind of awesome. Just needed to be sure of what...soooo, it goes both ways?”

Cas stared directly into his face and nodded, then pushed up, and put his mouth against Deans. Kissing Dean was nothing like he'd experienced before, April had been a pale shadow of what he felt when his mouth met Deans. It was soft, and then hungry when Deans other hand came up to grip his head, turning him minutely until their mouths fit together. Dean moaned something low and broken against his mouth and his tongue slid between Cas lips. Castiel followed, his own tongue rolling, sliding as their mouths opened and the kiss deepened.

He had thought that the closeness of their bodies was intimate but this, this was a deeper layer and it only made him crave more. Deans mouth was hot and wet and Cas chased that intimacy with his lips and tongue like a meteor chases gravity down to the planet. Experiencing Deans feelings at the same time, it was too much, it wasn't nearly enough. 

His skin felt super-charged with sensation, thrills running through his arms, his thighs, his cock was hard and throbbing, he wanted every inch of his skin pressed against Dean that was physically possible. He traced the interior of Deans mouth with his tongue, ran his hands down his back until his fingers were under the edge of that stupid towel around his waist. He gripped the soft swell of flesh there until Dean groaned and thrust his groin against Cas. 

He had waited, been patient, denied his need and his want but under the surface of struggling new human the original being still lived. The soldier that had fought his way through hell to find one soul and pulled that soul free. That Castiel was still part of who he was now, and that Castiel surged forward. With a growl he pushed impatiently at the rough terrycloth until it came loose from Deans hips, pulled it out from between them and now he could feel Deans cock, hard and eager through one thin layer. He ground forward, searching for more friction, felt Deans hips ride forward too. Mouths still locked Cas pushed, instinctively Deans body resisted but he was inexorable and moved him backwards until his legs hit the bed. Followed him down and lifted, fractional Grace stronger than human still, until they were both on the bed, lifted and pulled them up until Dean let out a startle puff of laughter into Cas mouth.  
“Shit Cas, that was, uungh, kinda hot.”

Cas just lowered himself onto Dean and felt a groan pull up from his throat at the feel of Deans entire body pressed against his. With a shudder he moved, skin sliding on skin, his mouth reaching for Deans neck, his shoulders, wanting to find all the best sensations.

Deans hands were moving too, across his shoulders, his back, down to his hips. He heard a grumble “C'mon, lose these things.” Dean was tugging on his shorts and he rolled to the side to push them down and off. Then they were lying side by side, pressed together and it was better, because he had a hand free to touch, everything. 

He pushed up to find Deans mouth again and it became a kind of heated battle of reaching mouths, grasping hands, his leg flung over Deans thighs, moving and thrusting against each other. With April it had been all softness and flow, but this was more than that. It was hunger, need, a kind of struggle. Wanting so much that it outran simple desire. Cas knew what it was he wanted, but wasn't sure how to best get there, everything felt so good.

Then his straining cock slid against Deans and everything narrowed, silken skin over hardness, the heat and the slick sweat between their bodies. Cas reached down between them without thinking and grasped them both to keep them aligned.  
Dean groaned, “aaahhh, yeah that's - shit Cas.”

He couldn't have stopped now if he'd wanted to. Part of him wanted to draw it all out but this was a storm of so many things he'd wanted, needed for so long. 

He let go of their cocks and grabbed Deans buttock to hold him while they thrust against each other, feeling the flex of muscles with each thrust. Deans hand was tangled in his hair tightened to almost pain, and he was groaning and gasping. Everything was throbbing and sizzling, the sensations focusing down to his groin and he dropped his head forward to Deans shoulder face buried there, riding the hot wet feelings.  
When Deans cock pulsed, and he heard the wordless cry of release it triggered his own. An indescribable rush of pleasure that surged through every fiber of his being. His arms tightened, his toes curled, and his body twisted as it ran through him “Dean...” he groaned the name like a prayer and rode out the orgasm like it was his first time.


End file.
